Twenty-Five: Deluxe
by moonlessmondays
Summary: Adele sings every OQ one shot. Basically, me using every song in Adele's new album 25 for oneshots! :)
1. 1: Love in the dark

_Hello, it's me. I was wondering-yep, okay that's enough of that. After my OS 'Hello' I was challenged by my lovely girls Miles and Shannon to write a one shot for every song on Adele's new album 25. And like Barney Stinson, "Challenge Accepted," I said. So here we are. I'll regret this I know I will (I already do), but ugh, it's here._

 _Some of the os might be connected, I'll make a note if so, to ensure no one gets all confused. Ratings might vary but it's T for now. :)_

 _This is the first installment and it's inspired by the 8th song in the album: **Love in the dark!**_

 _Unbeta-ed forever. Mistakes are mine._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Twenty-five: Deluxe|| Love in the dark**

 _Please stay where you are_  
 _Don't come any closer_  
 _Don't try to change my mind_  
 _I'm being cruel to be kind_

 _I can't love you in the dark_  
 _It feels like we're oceans apart_  
 _There is so much space between us_  
 _Maybe we're already defeated_

* * *

Regina Mills watches silently as people, couples, men, women, sway to the beat of the soft jazz music that is filling the room. She stands at the sidelines, a glass of champagne in hand but she hadn't even so much as taken a sip. She can't, not now, not when her stomach is a queasy as it is. Not when the pressure is on for her to be perfect, and honestly, one wrong move—intended or not—would lead to disastrous results.

She'd really rather not be intoxicated when that happens.

She sighs, her hands falling flat against her stomach, her breaths coming in and out in long intervals. The red dress she is wearing is too tight, not that her discomfiture matters right now as much as her looking pristine does, and she feels the material constrict her breathing—feels it constrict her every move. Subtly, she leans against the wall behind her, feeling tired of standing here looking nothing but a mere decoration.

She is, she thinks, nothing but a mere decoration, an arm candy, a thing that looks pretty on someone's arms, her Master's Degree be damned.

Being a trophy wife does that to someone. Being Cora Mills' daughter _and_ Leopold Blanchard's wife does that to someone.

The room may be filled with people, Academicians and the other stuck up politicians and some millionaires, billionaires alike gathering in this spacious, cavernous hall to celebrate the odd years they have departed from their dear alma matter (it's really just a pretentious way for this Columbia University alumni to brag about the assholes they have become), but still, Regina feels alone. Like a fish out of the water. She isn't from here, and she isn't one of them.

"A beautiful lady like yourself shouldn't be standing alone," she hears someone say from beside her and she turns to find a man looking at her with a smirk, his dimples peeking from the slight stubble on his cheek.

"I can do as I please," she bites back at the stranger, feeling her temper rise at the insinuation, for she already feels so much like a decoration, a trophy, there isn't a need to rub it in her face, really. It is rather belatedly that she realizes that she probably shouldn't let the animosity grown between them, just in case he is someone important to her husband. "I'm sorry," she whispers as she bites her lip in remorse. "I didn't mean to be rude."

She might just have inadvertently screwed this up for her husband.

She'll probably pay for that later.

But the man only looks at her with an amused expression, his lips stretching into a smile, and those dimples are still on prominent display. "No problem, milady," he says charmingly. "If I had to wear a dress so constricting, and shoes so high as you do all night, then I'd probably be rude too. I did actually once traipse around the halls in heels, and its killer on the back. I'm surprised you're still on your feet." He chuckles, and she finds herself smiling along with him, unable to disagree. "Robin Locksley, at your service."

He offers his hand to her and she looks down to it, debating whether or not she should take it and shake it, but deciding against that, just in case Leopold would be watching, and god knows what he would think then.

"Regina Mills," she says instead, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "You plan to keep me entertained with your stories of cross-dressing?" The chuckle that rumbles from deep within his chest makes her smile and bite her lip, enjoying the feeling of having made him laugh like that—for some insane reason.

"I am no cross-dresser, and I'm afraid that is the last bit of that story, but I could certainly try to keep you entertained," he counters, dropping the hand she hadn't taken. If he is offended by her somewhat rude gesture, he doesn't say. He looks at her and smiles. "So, what has you sulking here in the dark, so far away from the festivities, Ms. Mills?"

She bites her lip, the impulse to correct him—should he get the wrong idea—jumping at her, but she swallows it down—why should it matter?

"Free food, I suppose," she teases, making him chuckle once more—and that sound, that sound does _things_ to her that she cannot explain. But no, it's wrong. She can't do that. "And good wine."

After tonight, he will be just another stranger who dared keep her company in one of her husband's parties.

"Ah but you're not drinking any," he points out as he takes the glass of champagne from her hand. Just then, a maitre d passes through them, right behind her and he grabs two glasses of what seems to be whisky, having to lean over her to grab them. Her breath hitches and she prays to god that he doesn't hear. He smiles at her, handing her the glass. "You need something more magical than just champagne."

Her eyebrow raises again as she gives him a questioning look. "You want to drink? Now?" she asks and watches him nod. She takes the glass he's offered to her.

"Well, we deserve it, don't you think?" he asks without really needing an answer. He continues, "We survived that long, droning speech of that red head woman," Ah, Zelena, the Dean of the College of Veterinary Medicine, "Had to sit through a good number of other people bragging about what they've accomplished so far… and we haven't dropped dead."

She chuckles at that. "I don't really think we should, though, Mr. Locksley." she says, fighting the urge to just down the damned alcohol already. The use of his surname seems to make his smile drop a tad bit, but she needs to do it. She needs to use the formalities to put a distance between them, put him in his place and keep her in hers.

"Robin, if you please," he says pleasantly. He nods. "And I don't know about you, but it's rather been a long night, I say we deserve the drink."

 _Robin._

She lets his name roll around her head, her mouth, her lips, wanting nothing more than to let them loose, but no, she can't. It isn't proper. But he is right: it's been a long night; she supposes one drink won't hurt.

Smiling, she raises the glass to her lips and takes a small sip. She barely gets a taste of the amber liquid before Leopold is walking over to her, standing beside her and placing his hand at her lower back—marking his territory (she hates it, hates the feel of his hand anywhere on her skin, and she bites the inside of her cheek to restrain herself from doing something incredibly embarrassing).

"Hello," Leopold greets pleasantly, but Regina has been married to this man long enough to know that this is a façade, that deep inside he is nothing but seething at the sight of her talking to another man. "I'm Leopold Blanchard." He extends his hand and offers it to Robin. "I see you've met my wife."

The last bit was a cold, calculated move, something Regina knows is meant to push Robin away, no doubt Leopold thinks he's been sniffing around.

The look of confusion that dawns on Robin's face is enough to make her swallow hard, and she looks away from him, feeling so guilty, even when she doesn't feel think she should be. They were just having a conversation, after all.

"Robin Locksley," Robin says though, ever so polite. He takes Leo's proffered hand and shakes it. "She is quite lovely." He gives both her and her husband a tight smile. "You know I've read about you, president and CEO of Storybrooke Holdings, right?" Leo nods, the pride swelling in his chest and Regina wants to scoff in disgust. Robin continues, "And one of the most generous alumni of Columbia."

Of course he is. He donates thousands of dollars to his beloved alma matter every year, saying it's for good cause…only he's far too buried in his own ass that he couldn't see what a fool he makes of himself. He wants to make so many people happy, to look up at him in awe and reverence; he doesn't even realize that his own wife looks at him with disgust.

"Yes," Leopold responds, a hair more smug than he should be in Regina's opinion. "And what do you do, Mr. Locksley?"

Robin shrugs and takes a sip of his whisky. She grips hers in her hands with a little more force than necessary. She hates everything about what is happening in front of her eyes at that moment.

"I'm but a mere professor of literature in the university," Robin says with a smile. "Not as notable as yourself, Mr. Blanchard."

And of course, Robin would be, amongst other qualities, a well-read man.

Leopold nods disinterestedly, before turning to Regina. "Mary Margaret has asked for us to go home," he says as though whatever his darling daughter says is the prophecy itself. "Let's go."

It's a command, not a request, and Regina bristles at it, at him, at this vile man she calls her husband. But she is not about to embarrass herself in public, and so she nods and purses her lips, sparing one more look at Robin before she is turning away from him.

She'll probably never see him again.

 **…**

She does see him again.

Surprisingly, she does see him again.

A few weeks (or has it been a month? She isn't sure anymore—the weeks blend with each other it seems) after she's sworn up and down that she won't ever see him again and should therefore forget about those piercing blue eyes, and that dimpled smile that does things—wonderfully frustrating things, sinful things to her, she sees him.

It was a Friday and she was at a diner, Granny's—one of the only diners in the whole of Manhattan that she actually likes. It's a quaint little diner near Central Park, nowhere near the upscale ones at the Upper East Side, and something that Cora would scoff at, but Regina likes it. They serve good food, have great servers, and is near Central Park, where she mostly spends her days, trying to get away from the four walls of Leopold's mansion.

It had just been one of those days that she felt so blue, she was in a mood, and she'd gone to Grannies for some chocolate frosted donut and a cup of choco-peppermint latte. She'd been sitting at a booth at the back of the diner when he'd come in, along with a tall, burly man with curly hair. He'd looked so handsome in his crisp white button down and a vest, looking so much like dream that she'd actually choked on her latte.

She wasn't, isn't, supposed to have thoughts like that about him. She's married. And he, well he's a wonderful man, but he's not for her. So whatever strings of attraction and pull or connections she might feel towards him should be snuffed out (she at least admits that there are, even if she can't act on it).

And part of the process of snuffing it out is avoiding him at all costs (damn it, who thought she'd meet him here, of all places?), so she calls for the bill, waving at the tall brunette with red streaks in her hair for it. She pays for her food and tries to walk out of the diner without being noticed—not that that is even likely, his back is turned to her and he's chatting animatedly with his companion.

She manages to escape (her mind is congratulating her, to be honest), but not too far, because as soon as she steps out into the cold Manhattan air, she hears her name being called, and it's him, of course it's him. She groans.

"Regina," he calls, his tone almost disbelieving but hopeful, and Regina could about kick herself.

His friend, whom she's seen at the party that night, must have seen her and alerted Robin of her presence. And well, there's no escaping now. She turns slowly and looks up at him briefly, before averting her eyes. She can't look at those blue depths.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, an air of curiosity and disbelief in his tone of voice. He looks at her like he can't believe she's here.

And why? Because she's Leopold's wife?

"I can't eat wherever the hell I want?" she asks, pissed because really, she doesn't need this, doesn't need the complication that being around him brings her. She doesn't need this. No.

"I didn't mean that no," he says, his hand raising in surrender as he takes a step towards her, making her take a step back. "Regina, I'm sorry. I just…when you'd left so abruptly… I hope I didn't cause some trouble."

She shook her head. "It's okay, it was just time to go," she explains. "And, no you didn't get me in trouble, at all."

He hadn't, not really. Apart from asking her if she'd known Robin before the party, Leopold hadn't opened the topic any further. Leaving her to her devices for the most part, as he is mostly apt to do, and poring over his daughter who recently just got engaged.

All the better, Regina thinks bitterly.

"Well, you still owe me a drink," he says, grinning at her toothily, and try as she might to fight that feeling—that one that settles on her chest and makes her heart flutter and makes her feel light and airy, and everything nice that she hasn't felt in a long, long time.

"I owe you a drink?" she asks, incredulously, but the bite of her words isn't as hard as it should be as the corners of her mouth turn up in a grin. She can't help it, is helpless to fight the bushing schoolgirl wanting to claw its way out of her.

God, Robin is literally a stranger.

"Well, you didn't get to drink anything then, did you?" he asks, teasingly.

She bites her lip. This isn't right. The reality and gravity of the situation pulls her back down to earth and tethers her. "It's not appropriate," she tells him. And it's true—it's really not appropriate. If she feels disappointed over the fact, it's not something she mulls over right now.

"It's just a drink," he reasons with a nonchalant shrug. And yeah, sure it is, but they both know that it isn't. "We aren't doing anything wrong."

No, they aren't. He's right, they're not, but are they really going to wait for them to fall into the trap that many a man had fallen? She is but a woman, and really, she already finds it difficult to reign in the emotions surfacing in her chest at the sight of him.

"I don't day time drink," she mutters in a lame attempt to wave him off.

"Well, there's always nighttime, or if you have a curfew and are afraid your carriage would turn into a pumpkin, there's always coffee." He looks at her pleadingly, and God, can he stop looking at her with those beautiful blue eyes that seem to be looking right to her soul? "Besides, as I said, you owe me a drink," he says once more, still trying to persuade her.

She can't really refuse this man, not if she tried, not even if she wants to.

She bites her lip once more before a smile blooms and she looks away from him, trying very hard to hide the blush that she feels creep into her cheeks.

"I suppose I do," she finally mutters, giving in.

The smile that splits those lovely lips and makes that dimple peek out as he too bites his lip is enough consolation.

 **…**

They finally have that drink. On a Thursday night three weeks later, when Leopold is away with her precious daughter on a trip that had not included Regina—which she is very, very grateful for because it has given her the time to hang out with Robin.

They have traded text messages, meanwhile—nothing harmful, nothing overly flirtatious, just friendly ones—him asking about her day, or her asking about the University. It's wrong, it really is, especially when she feels the giddiness rising up at her at the sight of his name popping on her screen at every text message, but she can't bring herself to put a stop to it, can't bring herself to put an end to the only meaningful relationship she has at the moment—even if it's this, something so forbidden, something sinful, something comfortable, something that feels right even when all odds stand against them.

So, they're going to be friends, because that's all she can afford to offer him. And if her heart whispers something else, otherwise, that she might feel the strings of something more than just friendship for him—that's something she can ignore. It's something she _has_ to ignore.

They meet at Central Park, and a jolt runs through her at the sight of him in a pair of dark wash jeans and a blue jumper that brings out the blue in his eyes more intensely. She feels light, feels young as he mock bows at her, making her laugh at his silliness.

Really, she shouldn't even be here, her mind telling her to leave, but her heart along the rest of her willing her to stay. This is wrong, her brain screams, and she knows that in the end, someone is bound to get so hurt, but she doesn't want to go, her feet leading more to him rather than farther away and she's powerless to fight the pull she feels towards him, powerless to leave and walk away.

So stay she does, this time letting her heart take the lead.

He's brought her to a bar at the outskirts of Manhattan, somewhere close to the city that it won't be much of a travel, but far enough that it allows her to forget that a few miles away real life exists. He charms her with stories of himself as he drives them to the bar (they've opted to take his car and he'll just bring her back to the city so she can get hers), and she forgets the fact that she's spending time with a man who she doesn't even know, smiling and laughing with him.

For the first time in a long time, she feels free.

He parks just right outside the bar named Rabbit Hole, and he quickly climbs out of the car to open the door for her and help her out. She isn't fragile, and doesn't want him treating her delicately, but it charms her regardless, makes her shake her head good naturedly as she grasps his offered hand and lets herself gain equilibrium. The ground is solid beneath the soles of her Dolce ankle boots, and Robin's hand is warm against the small of her back, permeating through layers of clothing, his woodsy smell wafting through her nose, enveloping her senses.

This feels right, no matter how many times she tells herself that it's wrong.

He leads her to a booth right at the back of the bar, helps her to a chair, and not for the first time, as he sits across her and the lights flicker against his features, does she ask herself why she's here, and why she isn't making any move to leave.

She should. She really should.

She's a married woman, for fuck's sake, she thinks as her ring catches against the light and glistens, glaring at her and blinding her momentarily.

"Regina," she hears him say, his voice breaking through the haze of her musings. She looks at him and finds him waving a hand over her face. She pushes his hand away as he chuckles. "Welcome back to earth, love," he teases. "What would you like?"

Freedom, she thinks, but that isn't the answer to the question he is asking, so she bites her tongue, looks over the menu in front of her and clicks her tongue.

"I don't know," she mumbles as she licks her lips thoughtfully. "Maybe a glass of martini, with extra olives."

Robin nods. "Martini with extra olives for the beautiful lady, and scotch for myself," he tells the waitress who seems to have magically appeared at their side, pen and notebook in hand, looking at them, waiting. He gives the waitress a smile, and then she leaves them alone.

"Thank you," he says. "For coming with me tonight."

She looks at him and finds him staring at her, and she looks away, not able to stand the intensity of his gaze. She gnaws at her lips, picks at her fingers as her mind runs a thousand miles a minute.

She looks at him again with caution. "I'm married," she blurts out as if he doesn't know that already. But if she needs to set boundaries between them again, then set up boundaries she will.

This is _wrong_.

But god, does it feel so, so, so fucking right.

"I know," he sighs, looking away from her. "I know you are, and I do hope that you know that I only am trying to get to know you and I am not expecting more than what you're willing to give—friendship is all you have to offer, and I'm okay with that." He pauses for a while, as if looking for the right words to say.

Funny that, for he must have read so many books and knows so many languages, has a very extensive vocabulary and intensive understanding of the English language, but he seems to be at loss now.

She waits him out, lets him gather the words he needs or wants to say to her, remaining silent and looking down as she fiddles with her thumbs.

"I just want to be your friend," he says softly, so softly.

She looks up at him. "I don't _want_ a friend," she snaps at him.

He shakes his head and bites down on those lips she's been dreaming of for weeks now. "You may not want one, but I think you need one," he tells her, and he's right, and she hates that. Fucking hates that.

"What makes you think so?" she asks, half pissed, half curious. It's rather astounding how easily he seems to read her.

"You have this air about you, Ms. Mills, where you seem to close off on everyone, you like to keep it in," he says, and again, he's right. "But I think, deep inside, you do want to talk about it."

"What makes you think that?" she repeats and really, she feels like an idiot. She, alike him, has a degree on literature, a master of letters, yet she seems to have no grasp on how to use the English language.

"Because, you'd have left by now, if you didn't," he says knowingly, looking at her with that gleam in his eyes, and he looks so handsome that way, so soft and so giving, so selfless that she can't resist.

"You can't save me," she says, laughing bitterly as tears sting her eyelids. She isn't about to cry right now. No. "I'm a lost cause."

"You don't need me to save you, Regina Mills, because you are perfectly capable of saving yourself. You don't need a hero, you are your own," he tells her, his hand moving to grasp hers, and she shouldn't let him, should pull her hand away, but she can't. The warmth of his as he holds hers is addictive. "And you are not a lost cause. You just need someone to remind you that we all deserve a second chance. Because we do, Regina, even you."

She wants to believe him, she really does…but a voice nags at the back of her head telling her that maybe it's too late.

 **…**

They had another night out after that, and then another, and then another, until weeks, months have passed and going out for drinks together has become a fixture in both their lives. She tells Leopold that she spends time in a new sort of club—of highbrow women coming together to discuss petty things—and he seems to buy it, lets her out of the house on nights she says they have meetings, when all she really does is meet Robin.

She knows him in a deeper level now. He tells her of his lost love, Marian, who had been taken by illness far too earlier than she should have been. He tells her of her beauty, and she hears how much he's loved Marian, in the reverent way that he talks about her. He tells her of the dark times he'd gone through after Marian's death, talks about the wasted dreams and lost hopes, of the heartache he'd endured when Marian had gone. He tells her of his healed heart and the faded scars.

She understands him, on a deeper level, and she tells him so. She tells him the tale of the rich man's daughter who fell in love with the chauffeur, tells him of her Daniel—the only man she's ever loved, and how he'd died, out of some complications with his heart. She'd told him of how her mother, instead of helping him, had kicked him out of the house because he'd been a burden, and not at all fit to marry Regina, keeping all of this from Regina until she'd found out about it herself. Regina tells him of how on Daniel's dying day, Cora had kept her from him, fixing her up instead to marry Leopold Blanchard.

Regina tells Robin of how much she hates the life she's been thrust to and feels like she can't breathe, can't live, that all she wants is to be free, to live her own life, not the life her mother wants for her.

"Why not divorce the man, then?" Robin asks as they sit in front of the fireplace in his apartment, facing each other, mugs of spiked hot chocolate between them.

Her feet are tucked beneath her and she is wrapped in the wool blanket that smells so much of him as she stares at the flickering flame at the hearth. She tears her gaze away from the fire and looks at his blue depths.

She's falling for him, she knows it, can feel it. Months of spending time with him, in this illicit whatever this is that they are doing… it is rather inevitable for her to fall so deeply in love with him. He's a wonderful, wonderful man, who had a zest for life that she's felt vacated her when Daniel had died and she'd been forced to marry Leo, whose honor bound him to remain her friend even when she sometimes caught the longing in his eyes because he believes that that is all she needs. She can't tell him that she loves him, shouldn't even feel that way for him, but she can't help what she feels, can't choose who she loves, so love him she does, love him intensely.

She shrugs. "I can't," she says, though she doesn't have a logical reason why. Or maybe she has. "It's going to be a scandal of epic proportions, it will ruin me and ruin my family and I can't do that." She bites her lip as she pulls the blanket tighter around her. "I suppose I should research on how to kill him and make it look like suicide."

She chuckles, but it sounds hollow even to her own ears.

She feels his hand grasp hers, and god, can he not? He's making this harder. He takes her chink between his thumb and forefinger, making her look at him.

"Is it really worth your happiness, love?" he asks solemnly, as if he cannot fathom how she can even subject herself to this. But can't he see that there is no other way? He continues with, "Because you do deserve to be happy, Regina, even if you think it's not possible."

The tears that gather around her eyes are too heavy for her to stop them from coursing down her cheeks. He wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs as he kisses her forehead softly.

That is the night that she thinks he might have stolen her heart completely.

But really, how can he steal something she's giving so freely to him?

 **…**

She spends more time with him even when she tells herself that she shouldn't, even when it's wrong, even if it feels like she's treading through waters too deep for her.

But she can't stay away from him. Not even if she tried, and she has tried, she's tried so hard.

It's like she's found the other half of her soul and now their souls have mated and tethered to each other, never finding the strength to let go.

He invites her one night for dinner, just the two of them, as usual, and though she should, she couldn't say no. They settle for a Friday night, on a fortnight, because Snow would be away on a trip with her fiancé, and Leo would be on a business trip. It's perfect.

When Regina walks in the apartment, she immediately notices the picnic he's set by the fire. She smirks at him, but secretly, she's delighted to be romanced this way. It's a first for her. Thoughts of ending this and thoughts of her marriage are shoved at the back of her mind. She can loathe herself some more later.

So she eats with him, lets him entertain her with stories of her childhood, and she tells him in turn of young Regina. He listens to her with rapt attention, something that warms her heart and her soul.

He talks to her about literature and poetry and everything that interests them both. After they get into a discussion about Shakespeare, he offers to show her his extensive collection of Shakespeare's work, to which she agrees to eagerly. She's known him for a while but she hasn't known about that.

He brings her to a room, his own personal library, and leads her to the section where his Shakespeare collection is neatly stacked, aligned right against the wall. She runs her fingers at the spine of each book, feeling his eyes following her every move. Every nerve ending in her body thrums, feels alive… _she_ feels alive. And she bites her lip, feeling the effects of that one glass of whisky she's been sipping throughout their dinner.

Then she feels, more than sees, him move behind her, his hand closing around her hips. She turns in his arms and finds him impossibly closer. The space between them only allows for their breaths to mingle and become one, and she feels his heart pounding against her chest, feels her own beat in sync with his.

She feels her throat go dry, feels the draft in the air as the silence between them stretches and stretches. The time tics and tics, the grandfather clock just at the far right corner of the room tick-tocking loudly as the seconds melt into minutes.

She is holding her breath. That she knows.

And then it happens, he leans down and aligns their faces, swoops down and captures her lips in a heated kiss that has her backing against the shelves, head thumping against the wood, making the frames rattle. He kisses and kisses her, lets her feel his lips against her, before his tongue swipes against her lips for entrance that she does not deny him.

His tongue slips inside her mouth, and she meets it with the fervor she's been suppressing all these months. He tastes good, like mint, and whisky, and something else that she couldn't describe but is so uniquely his. His warm, wide chest pushes closer against her as his arms encircle her form more fully, tighter, while he kisses her more passionately, kisses her endlessly.

When they pull away, they are both gasping and panting hard.

"Whatever happened to your honor code?" she asks him as she fingers his collar, pertaining to the code he's told her he's lived by all his life—be truthful, righteous and good. "The one you've lived by everyday of your life?"

He shakes his head and pulls her impossibly closer, even she isn't sure where he starts and where she ends. "Today is just not one of those days," he counters, pulling her again for another heated kiss.

They make love right then and there, at the floor of his library, and though she could feel his trepidation over their first time being like this, right here, in a spur of the moment kind of situation…she thinks that she doesn't want to change a thing.

 **..**

Later, when they are seated on the couch, side by side, legs brushing as he holds her close to him, his lips dropping kisses on every part of her he can reach.

"This doesn't make anything any easier," she tells him in a whisper as she basks in the feel of his arms around her, his lips ghosting over her skin.

"The journey of love is never smooth," he says and it makes her heart skip a beat when he talks that way, talks of love between them, between him and her. "If it is, then everyone would have it, don't you think?"

And of course, she agrees.

But what now?

"Besides I have a new code," he tells her his hand coming down to grasp her hand. "I need to follow my heart." He turns her around to face him. "To wherever it leads me. To you."

But they are oceans apart, and there's such distance between them…so how about that?

 **….**

She needs to put a stop to this. This is madness. She's only going to get hurt, and god knows what would happen to him if Leopold finds out. It hadn't happened again since their first time, but it won't matter, not to Leopold. And if Leo ever finds out that Regina has fallen in love and made love with another man…he might murder Robin. Not to mention the hell Cora would raise if she finds out, and she will find out…Cora always does. Cora is already suspecting things as it were, suspects that Regina is hiding something, hinting at affairs more times than Regina could count.

So she needs to put a stop to this, even if it hurts, even if it kills her inside.

She knocks on the door of apartment 407, the light tapping she makes against the wood increasing in volume and intensity as the anxiety begins to nip at the seams of her heart and gnaw around the edges of her resolve.

She loves Robin, loves him so it hurts, and she shouldn't have let this happen, should not have let him get this close. But he is, and now she must do what she can to ensure his happiness. He thinks that she deserves to be happy, but it's too late for that now…too late for her…but he still has his chance and if there is one gift she can bestow upon him, it's that she lets him find his, give that to him the way he has given it to her.

The door opens and a confused looking Robin emerges. He is in a black tee and a light grey joggers, looking sleep addled, but he looks gorgeous to her, nonetheless, and her mind conjures images of them waking up together after a night spent in passion…and no, she needs to snap out of it.

"Robin," she whispers, throwing her arms around him. She feels him wrap his arms around her, holding her tightly, holding her close to him. "I missed you," she says with conviction. She does. She's about to walk away from his life, from him, and she already misses him.

"And I you," he says back, but he looks confused. He pulls back a little. "What are you doing here?"

It's a code for: where is Leopold? Did he allow you to get out of the house today?

Yes and no. Leopold doesn't know she's here of course.

"Perhaps we should come in," she suggests, feeling anxious as she stands outside his apartment. He looks apprehensive. "We have time."

He nods and lets her in, closing the door behind her. The moment he latches the lock, she pulls him to her and kisses him, kisses him hard, the tears coursing down her cheeks, down and down until she can taste them.

"Regina," he whispers, pulling away but keeping his hand grasping her shoulders.

She can't do this. But she has to.

"What's wrong?" he asks, worriedly, his hand lifting to cup her cheeks so she would look at him and make her look at him.

"I—Robin," she stammers, not sure how to go about this, really. She pulls away from him, ignoring the disappointed look on his face when she does. "We can't see each other anymore."

How is she supposed to live with him?

"Why?" he asks, as if this s rocket science.

It's not.

"Because I'm fucking married, that's why," she bursts out angrily. She's furious, furious at him for being so, so obtuse, at herself for being stupid, at the world for giving her something so beautiful, a man so perfect, but she can't have it. "I'm married, Robin, in case you've forgotten and we can't do this."

There is silence that fills in the words that they need and want to say. The space between them grows and grows until she feels like there is an ocean between them when they are merely five foot away from each other.

They've lost…both of them. They've been defeated before they even began.

She can't stand this, the pain in his eyes as he mulls it over, no doubt thinking of what is best for her rather than himself. Maybe, this time those would coincide.

But he is what's best for him.

"Turn around," she asks him as he follows her to where she is headed towards the door.

"Why?" he asks as he looks at her hopelessly.

"Because I can't let you watch me walk away," she says, tears gathering on her lids. "I might not be able to leave."

Tears course down his cheek and she longs to wipe them away. "Then don't go. Stay here. Stay with me, forever," he begs, and god if his knees so much as touch the floor, she's going to start bawling.

"No, Robin," she says brokenly. "Don't do this."

"Do you want me on my knees?" he asks, looking at her deeply in the eyes, "Because I will. Regina, please."

She shakes her head, and she feels sob wrack her body as he lowers down the floor on his knees, right in front of her, his hands coming around her waist and wrapping around her to stop her from going.

She holds on to him for dear life, holds on to him because this is the last time. She holds on to him and wishes she never has to let go.

But she has to.

She pulls away and asks him to stand, which, mercifully, he does.

"Turn around Robin," she begs, pulling at him to as she asks. "Please, my love."

Reluctantly, and with tears pouring down his cheeks, he does as she bids. She is unable to stop herself and she wraps her arms around his, hugging him from behind, squeezing once, twice.

"You've given me more than I was worth, Robin," she tells him, tears marring her cheeks and tainting her voice. "You mean more to me than I could express which is why I have to do this. I need to let you go and let you find the happiness you deserve."

And then she pulls away from him and walks out of his apartment, of his life forever. She closes the door as her heart breaks, and the little pieces make its way down her cheeks. She makes it halfway through the corridor before she hears the door open, so loudly it might unhinge, and she hears his hurried footsteps thudding against the floorboards. He grabs her by the waist and kisses her, kisses her hard and she can taste his tears and her tears and it's bitter and it's sweet, so beautiful and so heart wrenching at the same time. She wraps her arms around his neck as he kisses her, kisses her deeply, heatedly. Her lips cling to his as he holds her tighter against him.

She can't be brave any longer. She can't do it anymore. She can't say goodbye another time.

"Regina," he murmurs against her skin and she could hear the heaviness in his tone, knows what's coming.

She could literally taste the words that are going to slip past his lips, could literally hear it, and no, he can't do that to her, no. He cannot.

"I know," she whispers as she lets him kiss her again, kiss her deeper as if he never wants to let go. She wants the same. "I feel it too."

He rests his forehead against hers. "Then stay," he pleads, his voice desperate as his clutch on her hips tightens.

She cannot find it in herself to say no anymore, not one more time. She should have never tried to fight. She's already defeated.

 **FIN (11/23/15)**

* * *

 **A/N:** _Please please let me know your thoughts. I would love to hear feedback to see if this is even working hahaha._


	2. 2: All I Ask

_I cannot thank all of you enough for the wonderful response for my last oneshot! I love Adele, I love OQ, and I love angst so here we are. This is my favorite song from the album, so this special to me._

 **TW: Character Death, avert eyes if you cannot deal with it.**

 _Enjoy, otherwise._

Many thanks to KristinJean and my panini Shannon for all their help with this fic and for listening to me go over and over again with the plots and just for being amazing people who helped me with this. Thank you to my sweet friend Jen for her pre-read and pre-approve! :)

 _Written as part of #AngstDay2k15 that I imposed upon myself. :)_

* * *

 **Twenty Five Deluxe|| All I Ask**

" _No one knows me like you do_

 _And since you're the only one that matters_

 _Tell me who do I run to?_

 _All I ask is_

 _If this is my last night with you_

 _Hold me like I'm more than just a friend_

 _Give me a memory I can use_

 _Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do_

 _It matters how this ends_

 ** _Cause what if I never love again_** _?"_

* * *

He watches her from the bed as she sits in front of her vanity, brushing her hair. She looks beautiful, so beautiful that it makes his heart clench. She's softly humming to herself as she stares back into her reflection in the mirror, just running the brush idly through her soft, clack tresses.

It's a sight that he never wants to forget.

A voice inside his head nags and nags at him to tell his wife, tell her now while he still could, while they are at a moment of peace, just with each other, without two sons running around and requiring their undivided attention. But the words get stuck in his throat.

He cannot tell her, cannot watch her face crumple with pain and despair that he knows he cannot alleviate.

"Stop staring, or I'd melt," she says with a soft giggle, looking at him through the reflection in the mirror. Her brown eyes are sparkling as she smiles at him, thinly hiding the pain he knows resides in them. He wants to take the pain away, wants to do something to make her feel better, but really, there is nothing to say or do, nothing to make this better for any of them.

"I'm sorry, my love," he says softly, a fond smile turning up his lips. "You're just stunning, in every way." He watches as a blush burns on her cheek, and she smiles, shaking her head.

She puts her brush down and pushes her chair back, standing up to cross the little distance between her vanity table and the bed. She climbs up the bed and lies down right beside him, laying her head on the pillow of his chest and wrapping her arms around him. He lets his hand fall against her hair, his fingers carding through her locks. The heat that radiates from his body makes him warm, and he thinks that if this is his last day, then he's happy that it's with her.

"What are you thinking?" she asks softly, drowsily, it seems and he peers down to find her eyelids drooping.

"Nothing," he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead. "I was just thinking how much I love you, darling."

She smiles sleepily, arms tightening around him. "I love you, too," she says before she drifts off to sleep.

He'll tell her tomorrow. Next week. Sometime soon. He can't hide it forever. But for now he'll hold her close and hold her tight and bask in their togetherness right that moment.

He closes his eyes and prays that he has many more nights like this.

 **…**

He should tell her…he really should. He shouldn't be keeping secrets with her like this. But it isn't so easy to tell her something that he has tried so hard to deny for so long. He wants to tell her now, tell her while he still has time. He remembers the doctor's words to him, remembers the pain of hearing the words, and he hears it still, now, so vividly, clearly like it was yesterday.

 **..**

 _"I'm sorry, Mr. Locksley," the doctor says with a small sad frown. He looks at the papers in front of him, and then back at Robin. Dr. Whale could be a bit dramatic than is necessary when he wants to be, and Robin can't help but groan internally. "It seems the tumor has spread out and not even chemo or surgery would do anything at this point."_

 _The words make Robin's blood grow cold, his heart stopping and his pulse running. He's been aware of his sickness, and Regina had been too, so do their boys, or at least they had all been aware of the sickness they all thought he'd been cured of._

 _He'd been in remission, really. Three years back, when Regina had come back in his life with the son he hadn't known they had, he'd been cleared with a clean bill of health. All had been better, and then another son had come along and everything seemed perfect, he had started feeling better, the last of his cancer now fading into memory. Three years of bliss, they'd been granted._

 _And then, suddenly, he'd started feeling worse a few months ago, and truthfully he'd been too scared to tell his wife of that, too worried that she'd be worked up about nothing. He had gone to the doctors to have it checked, and they found out that his cancer came back. He'd been told that he needs to go a dozen other procedures to make sure, a bazillion other tests had to be done._

 _And now this._

 _Dr. Whale continues to explain how and why this came to be, something about the cancer cells being too spread out now for it to be killed, something about stages, and all other things that Robin doesn't bother to understand now as the imminence of death looms over his head like a bad cloud. He could feel bile rising up his throat, feel despair spread all through his body like wild fire. What now?_

 _And what of Regina?_

 _How is she going to take this? And their boys? How are they going to live without a father?_

 _How is he even going to explain this to them?_

 _"How long do I have left to live?" he asks, voice cracking as the pain runs through the holes of his resolve. He won't cry now, but who knows what's next?_

 _"Three months, at the most," the doctor says with a sympathetic shake of his head, and really, how fast do time fly?_

 **..**

It's been weeks since then, and really, how is he supposed to hide that from his wife without her noticing? As it is, he's surprised that she hasn't asked much yet, only looking at him with beaded eyes when he's said that he's over fatigued.

Now though, he can't hide it from her any longer.

She's going to know, anyway. And he couldn't really not let her know, because how is she going to take it if he just drops dead right then without a word from him?

And how would he ever forgive himself if he did?

 **…**

Her husband is waiting for her in their bedroom when she arrives home from work. It's not really unusual, she does tend to have longer hours at work sometimes…working at a law firm does that. Besides, with him teaching at University, he has more flexible hours, and takes full advantage of that to take care of their boys.

What is unusual is the face that he greets her with. He looks so grim, so despondent, like there is a weight on his shoulders that can't carry. His hands are folded on his lap, as he fiddles with his thumbs.

"Hi, babe," she greets as she puts her purse down on the chair over at the corner. She's slipped off her shoes, and so her feet make no sound as she pads from the door to the bed where he is sat. "Something wrong?" Panic rises in her as she takes note of the fact that she hasn't heard their sons fighting yet, or the noise that comes from them playing in their room. "Where are the boys?"

"Over at Mary Margaret's," he says, and Regina breathes in a sigh of relief as she realizes that her children are in the good hands of her step-sister. She takes the hand that Robin offers and lets him guide her to his lap. His arms encircle her and holds her tightly as he continues, "I wanted to talk to you about something."

She could feel a lump on her throat, acid rising up her stomach. Her heart is pounding. And her knees are trembling. If his face is anything to go by, this is not about to end well for both of them.

"Regina, you know I love you," he says, and god, that just makes it worst. "I love you, you are a part of me, and I would never ever want to do anything that will willingly hurt you."

"Robin?" she asks, more like pleads. Could he just spit it out please?

"Two weeks ago I went to the doctor's," he says softly, his hands grasping hers and squeezing tightly. It jolts her how cold and clammy they are but she squeezes back, for moral support. Little does she know that she's going to be the one to need it more. "I—Regina, my cancer, it's back."

Regina feels like drowning, feels like she can't breathe, feels like someone has poured ice cold water through her veins. Her heart stops and her breath hitches.

"Wh—what?" she asks, her voice sounding foreign even to her. "I thought—," but she trails off, her voice disappearing and failing her. Tears prickle her eyes.

"I thought so too, darling," he says, nodding before his forehead falls to her shoulder. She feels his tears wet her blouse and she's confounded, surely they can beat this again. As if Robin can hear her thoughts, he says, "This time it's terminal."

The words flay her.

No. It cannot be. No.

She can't live without him, no.

"Robin—," she tries to say as she attempts to turn around and face him. She's not about to lose him, no. "No it can't be, you're not going to die." This time, she stops trying to fight him.

He shakes his head, and she feels that more than she sees it, as his arms go around her tighter. He is holding her impossibly closer now.

He doesn't speak. There are no words to be said now. But she finds them, somehow…or at least she tries to.

"How long?" she asks in a small, hoarse voice. She feels small, so little in his arms.

"Two and a half more months, my love," he says softly.

And she thinks that they are just words, but they manage to kill her anyway.

 **…**

It is hard to adjust to life with the knowledge that she has now: that her husband is dying. It is harder to let life pass by knowing she can't possibly do anything about it. In the past two weeks since she's found out, all that she had been able to do is fuss over her family, and then at night, she wallows in the pain of the very real possibility that come tomorrow, it might never have the same number again.

But the hardest part is telling their sons that maybe in two months, they won't have their father by their side anymore, that maybe he's going to be gone tomorrow, who knows? Henry and Roland are still young, they need their father so much, and she needs him, too, so why is life being so cruel?

Their eldest had been angry, running up to his bedroom, slamming the door and locking himself up inside. Regina tries to run after him, but Robin stops her, tells him he's got it. They are inside Henry's bedroom for a long time, and Regina has taken into consoling her three year old son, who is too young to understand what is going on, and only being able to take away from that that his father might be going away...forever.

"Mommy?" he asks in his little voice as he sits on her lap, clinging to her as tears stream down his eyes. He looks up at her with a pout, tears gathering in his lashes, and god, she wishes she could take the pain away from them.

At seven and three, her children are far too young for this.

"Yes, baby?" she asks, her own voice cracking with tears.

"Is daddy leaving us?" he asks, frightened, just as Regina is.

Regina closes her eyes, tears filling them and she's about to respond to a question she has no idea how to answer when her husband and her eldest child appear in the living room once more. Roland leaps off her lap and runs to his father who is too weak to carry him now. Henry is sobbing quietly beside him, hands clasped tightly in his father's.

Regina and Robin share a look, of heartache and desperation and a wish that this isn't happening.

But it is, it is, and there isn't anything any of them can do.

 **…**

Regina thinks that she's had everything under control. She thinks that she's seen the worst of the pain life has to offer her. And she really does believe it, until she walks in on her husband and children lying in bed together.

Robin is in bed, unable to move so much now—his body having had deteriorated after a few more weeks, and their boys are on both his side, talking to him. Henry is quieter of the two, just lying in his father's arms, head pillowed on his chest, as Roland asks his father a dozen questions—still too young to grasp any of this.

"You'll be a good boy for mummy, won't you?" Robin asks their boys as he cards his fingers through Henry's hair and runs his other hand up and down their youngest son's back. "You'll protect her and love her?"

Regina feels the tears rise up her throat, her eyes stinging as her heart clench over and over again in her chest. She feels bad, spying in on them like this. But she is powerless to walk away.

"Of course," it is Henry who answers as he looks up at his father with glassy eyes. "And you'll look after us from heaven won't you, daddy?"

"Always, my darling boy," he promises. "I'll always watch over you, your brother, and your mum. I'll never be far away."

"Promise?" Roland asks in his little voice as he lifts his head and stares up at his father.

Henry is staring at him now too, a look of unabashed hopefulness in his eyes. He might be old enough to understand, but he's still young enough to be scared of losing his father forever.

"Promise," Robin says, his voice cracking as he gathers his boys closer to him.

From a far, Regina feels her heart break and shatter into a million tiny, little pieces.

 **…**

Robin waits for her in their bedroom after he's sent their children off to bed with her. He knows she's been listening to his conversation with their children, her red-rimmed eyes telling him more than her words ever could.

He knows how much it hurts, it hurts him too, but time is not on their side, and so is fate.

When she walks back into their bedroom, her head is ducked and she is quiet, far too quiet. He knows what she's thinking, what she's feeling and he wants to take that pain away, to make everything better for her, but he can't. There is no way.

"My love," he says, opening his arms, letting her settle into his embrace. He holds her close to his heart where she will forever be, and she promptly bursts into tears. He tries to find words to comfort her, but there are none.

"I can't lose you, Robin," she whispers, her voice muffled by the fabric of his soft cotton tee. He feels weak, too weak, but never weak enough not to hold her. "I can't live in a world where you aren't in it. I can't take it if you leave."

"I never want to leave you," he says as well as he gathers her closer, presses her even more to his frail body. He feels her heartbeat, and he uses that as strength, lets every thump calm him and give him life. "But I might have to."

"I love you," she cries into his arms, holding him closer as if that would make death go further away and not claim him. "I can't imagine life without you."

He presses his lips against the soft skin of her forehead and lets it linger. "But we're here, now, and this is true."

It's just that maybe _now_ won't be for much longer.

 **…**

She tries to muffle the sobs that threaten to escape her lips, but it's of no use. Her heart is breaking, shattering into so many pieces, and the doesn't know how much more of this she can handle, not sure how long she can hold on—to what little strength she has left, to hope.

He had looked so serene so calm when she'd left him in bed a few moments ago, and she wonders how on earth she can go another day without that.

He can't leave her no. He cannot.

She feels the tears wet her cheeks as they continue to course down from her eyes and she could swear everything, the world, this life up and down, hate on everything and break more glasses but it doesn't change anything, it won't change anything. It won't take what's ailing him.

She doesn't know how to live without him.

It is with that thought in mind that she feels a pair of limp arms wrapping around her middle, and his scent wafts through her nose—that smell of forest, how is she going to live without that, without him?

"My love," he murmurs against the crown of her head. He is holding her up when he can barely stand himself, and she doesn't know what to make of that. She doesn't know how to comprehend that he's still the one being strong enough for the both of them in this situation. "I'm still here. I'm not _yet_ going anywhere."

Her breath hitches.

No, he isn't yet, and he's still there. But until when?

She turns in his arms and buries her face into her chest, feels him rub up and down her back soothingly.

"I can't lose you, Robin," she whispers, her words muffled by the fabric of his cotton tee. His hold on her tightens. "I love you. I lost love before. I can't do it again. Not again, Robin, please."

But her pleas are of no use, because no will and no determination can make him stay by her side.

"Don't cry," he begs her, but she can't stop the tears. They fall of their own accord.

"I can't stop them," she tells him honestly.

And he doesn't have a response to that. they remain silent for a while, before Regina feels her husband tense as if wanting to say something.

"I know," she says, because she does—it's not in their hands anymore.

This time, it's not in his hands. They've lost the timing.

And if she's about to lose the only person who can mend her broken heart with a smile, the one person who matters, who is she going to turn to?

 **…**

"Robin," she asks him in a mousy voice when they've reached the bedroom and have settled in bed. She is wrapped against him once more, her breathing shallow and uneven.

He knows what she's about to say long before she even lets the words out, and really, he feels the same, knows what she feels. He doesn't want to go either.

"I know," he whispers against her hair as he holds her closer.

Her cries begin again, and this time, he doesn't try to say anything, just holds her closer and rubs her back. There isn't anything left to say.

"Regina," he begins as he cups the back of her head in his hand. She lifts her head and looks him dead in the eyes. "I need you to promise me something."

"Hmm?" she asks, her eyes falling shut as he runs her fingers through her strands.

He leans down and presses a kiss at the tip of her nose, savoring the last moments with her, savoring the last time she might be in his arms.

"Promise me that when I'm gone, you won't close your heart to love," he says softly. "That even when it hurts, you're going to push on, not just for our boys but for yourself as well. In a right amount of time, you're going to find someone and love them the way you love me."

"I can't, Robin," she says as fear floods her eyes.

"You can, my love," he urges softly. "Promise me."

"Robin," she sighs, voice trembling and lips trembling. "If you go away, you're going to take a piece of me with you, a large part of my heart. I cannot…don't ask me for this."

"Regina," he begins but she shakes her head emphatically.

"No," she says with conviction. "If you leave me…if you go…I can never love again."

"You have to," he tells her, his blue eyes holding her brown orbs. "You have to love again for the both of us." He takes her hand and presses it against his chest.

She shakes her head once more. "You're going away, leaving me," she repeats, and though he knows that she knows that he doesn't want to, it's all the same. "I can never love again." He seems to want to protest but she shakes her head. "Hold me, Robin. Just one more moment in your arms, that's all I ask…to be here as your wife and you my husband, the father of my children, nothing more."

He nods. "I love you, Regina," he says, giving up trying to fight her for now.

"I love you, too, Robin," she whispers as she holds on tighter to him.

He lets her words fill his heart and his soul and he pulls her closer into his embrace, his lips dropping against her forehead as he lets sleep claim him for the last time.

 **Fin (11/26/15)**

* * *

 **A/N: _Sorry, please don't hate me. thoughts would be nice._**

Also, there is a prequel to this which I'm finding very hard to write, so it might take awhile. I do hope, however, that regardless of that, this still makes sense, i tried to be as vague about the prequel as i could and focus on this story more.


	3. 3 Remedy

**Long time no see, guys. So I had this inspiration for this fic ever since i first heard the song, but it took a while to get it where i wanted. But here we are now, so hey enjoy!**

 **Thanks Geli for the beta-read.**

* * *

 _So desperate to find a way out of my world and finally breathe_  
 _Right before my eyes I saw, my heart it came to life_  
 _This ain't easy, it's not meant to be_  
 _Every story has its scars_

* * *

It is the cries that drew him in first.

Dr. Robin Locksley had been roaming down the halls of the hospital, having just gone out of the ER, and had been on his way to his office, to have some time to clear his head. Only, he had heard some whimper, soft whimpers, coming from one of the rooms and he'd gone to investigate.

To his surprise, he finds a boy, about seven or eight, sulking in a corner and crying. His first thought is that child must have been in pain, the whimpers had been what had allowed him to deduce that. But upon further inspection and closer proximity, he finds that the boy in question isn't really in pain—nothing physical anyway.

"Are you lost?" he asks the young boy, who startles from where he is crouched in the corner, crying with his arms hugging his bended knees.

The boy looks up at him with watery eyes, lips pouting, and nods slowly. He doesn't speak, only hiccups, and Robin offers him a soft smile before extending his hand and offering it to the young child. The boy hesitates a bit, but in the end, takes his hand, and lets him help him up. Robin watches as the boy dusts off his bottoms from dust and dirt.

"Are you a patient?" he asks the young boy when he finally looks up. It is late, around eleven pm, and he is much too young to be ghosting the corridors without supervision. Also, visitors are only allowed until midnight.

"No," the young boy stammers, hiccupping as he reaches up to wipe his eyes. He breathes in deeply and takes a step back, as if remembering that he isn't supposed to talk to strangers. Wise boy.

"I'm Robin, I'm a doctor here," Robin offers, holding out his hand for the boy to shake, which he does, reluctantly.

"My name is Henry," the boy finally divulges. "I'm visiting my mother."

Ah, that's why.

"Are you now?" Robin asks with interest. "And how did you manage to get yourself lost, Henry?"

Henry looks at him with trepidation, biting down on his lip and fiddling with his thumb before sighing. "I wanted a snack, but my Aunt Mary Margaret was busy talking on the phone, so I took bills from her purse and tried to get a snack on my own. But I cannot find my way to the cafeteria, and now I can't find my way back."

Robin smiles amusedly at the little culprit, what a sneaky little thief he is. "Alright, do you know which floor it was?" The boy shakes his head, making Robin frown. "How about your mother's name? We'll just go to the reception and ask, hmm?"

Henry seems to like the idea as he nods and smiles, a little, though a bit strained and a bit watery. He sniffs. "My mother's name is Regina Mills."

 **…**

It doesn't take long at all for them to locate the whereabouts of Henry's family, and it comes as a relief when they step inside the lift and Robin presses the button for the 4th floor.

Robin and Henry had gone to the cafeteria first before they walked to the reception. Robin offered to buy the boy some snacks, which Henry declined at first, but his hunger won out in the end, and he'd agreed to let Robin buy him a muffin and a juice box, and had gladly munched away on it as Robin watched him while sipping his coffee. The boy had been a delight, completely polite and kind, regaling him of the stories of his adventures, his favorite superhero and what superpowers he wishes to have. Robin, being an expert to child talk himself, had played along, and told him of his childhood fantasies too. After that, they'd gone to the reception where Ruby had been stationed for the night. She told them where Regina Mills' room is and had given Robin far more detail than he's asked.

Henry's mother, Regina, is in a private room, and apparently is under a coma. She has been for quite a while now, and though there is not much brain activity going on, she breathes on her own and requires no life support. Robin supposes that that is a good news, considering.

Henry stands beside him in the elevator restlessly, eager to be back with his family, and quite possibly had been scared off for a long while about being loss. Robin cannot quite blame the child, the hospital is rather large, and quite daunting. Hopefully, that would mean that Henry wouldn't be running off again anytime soon.

They make their way to room 407, and immediately, both of them see a short woman with black hair and incredibly pale skin pacing up and down the corridor, cellphone in hand and looking quite worried. Robin assumes that the woman is the aunt Henry had been talking about, and he pities her, he has an idea how she must feel at the moment, considering he himself had experiences of having a child lost under his watch. His own son certainly likes to wander off as well at the very young age of four years.

"Aunt Mary Margaret!" Henry yells in delight as he charges down to the woman who looks up at them, the relief that crosses her brown eyes palpable. Henry stops just right in front of the woman and wraps his arms around her middle while the woman also wraps her arms around his shoulder.

"Oh Henry!" Mary Margaret exclaims, sighing in relief. She pulls away long enough to look at the child. "You scared me! I thought you were lost. I had your Aunt Zelena on the phone and she was ready to come here and behead me for losing you!"

Henry looks contrite as he gazes back up at his aunt. "I'm sorry, Aunt MM. I was hungry and wanted to get some snacks, I just couldn't remember where the cafeteria was," he says before looking back at Robin, finally remembering his savior. He walks over to where Robin stands and pulls him by the hand. "But Dr. Locksley found me and helped me find my way back!"

Mary Margaret looks at Robin with amazement and gratitude, offering her hand to the doctor which Robin shakes. "Thank you, Dr. Locksley, for bringing my nephew back. My sister and I had been losing our minds with worry. I'm Mary Margaret Blanchard," she tells him. "I hope he hasn't inconvenienced you."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Robin tells her and then shakes his head. "And no, not at all" He looks at the boy with a soft smile, reaching down to ruffle the boy's head, making Henry grin at him. "He is a good boy, your nephew."

"Thank you again," Mary Margaret says, before she holds her phone up. "If you'll excuse I need to call my fiancé and my sister, tell them I have Henry here." She turns her attention to the little boy. "Don't run off, please." At Henry's solemn nod, she walks away.

Henry looks up at Robin and smiles at him. "Would you like to meet my mom?" he asks, and though Robin knows that Regina is under a coma, he agrees, letting the child have his way. What could it hurt, anyway, to talk to a woman who is under an indefinite sleep?

After all, there is a chance that she might actually hear them.

Henry all but drags Robin inside the room, and takes him near his mother's bed. Robin's sight falls onto the woman lying limply on the bed. Her breathing is even and she looks peaceful, and if Robin would only let himself admit it, Regina looks quite beautiful.

"Hey mom," Henry says, as though he is talking to his mother. "This is Dr. Locksley, he helped me today. He is really kind." He then looks up at Robin and waits, to which Robin only responds with a questioning look. "Talk to her, say hi," the boy urges.

Robin feels awkward, but agrees nonetheless, and he leans down a bit to talk to the sleeping form of Regina Mills. "Hi, I'm Dr. Robin Locksley," he says, fidgeting a bit. "I helped your son today, but it's no bother because he is such a nice little boy." He then turns to Henry who he finds has an approving smile on his face at his actions. He smiles back at him. "I must go now though, I'm afraid, I am on call, after all."

The boy frowns but nods, telling him goodbye and thanking him once more for delivering him safely to his mother's side.

"No problem, my boy," Robin says with a smile. "Just don't run off again, anytime soon, okay?"

The boy nods enthusiastically. "Will you come visit again next time?" he asks.

It takes Robin by surprise, but he nods, and smiles at the boy. "Of course, Henry," he says. "You be good, okay? I'll see you around."

The boy smiles back and nods again, before waving at him goodbye as he walks out the room. He finds Mary Margaret still on the phone, and so he only nods at her and smiles in parting. The woman returns his smile, mouthing thank you to him once more, before saying goodbye.

 **…**

Robin finds himself on the fourth floor.

He doesn't know why, and he is quite surprised himself, but he wanders off to the fourth floor, a bouquet of flowers in hand. He is nervous, though it doesn't really matter. He is just visiting he tells himself, keeping his word to Henry.

On the back of his mind, he knows that it isn't the exact truth.

He stops just at the door of room 407 and raises his hand to knock, though it does take him a while before he does. He breathes in deeply, exhaling through his mouth before he lets his fist knock on the wooden door. It opens and he is met by a different woman, this time a redhead who now looks at him questioningly.

"Hi," he says nervously. He clears his throat. "I'm Dr. Robin Locksley, is Henry Mills here?"

The woman looks at him suspiciously just as the boy in question rounds the halls and yells his name.

"Dr. Locksley!" he exclaims excitedly, crashing his tiny body on to Robin's leg. Mary Margaret is just behind him, telling his already dashing form to be careful. "I knew you'd come and visit!"

Robin reaches down to ruffle the boy's hair. "Of course," he says.

Henry smiles up at him and lets go of his leg, just as Mary Margaret reaches them finally. She offers her hand. "Hello, Dr. Locksley, nice to see you again," she says with a soft smile, and Robin extends the same sentiment before they push their way inside Regina's room, the redhead only staring at them in confusion. Mary Margaret turns to her. "This is Dr. Robin Locksley. He was the one who found Henry." She then turns to Robin once more. "This is my sister, Zelena Greene."

Ah.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Greene," Robin says as he offers his hand and smiles at the red head who nods, shakes his offered hand and smiles back.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too," Zelena says. "Thank you for helping my nephew."

"No problem," he tells her, because it's true, he quite enjoyed his time with Henry.

"Is that for my mom?" Henry then pipes up, pointing at the flowers he holds in his hand.

Robin nods at him and hands the flowers. "I thought she might like it," he tells her, and Henry nods his agreement with enthusiasm, taking the flowers from him and thanking him for it.

He smiles fondly at the boy before his gaze falls to the woman who still lies on the bed, eyes closed, consciousness still far out of her reach.

He sighs internally.

He really does want to see her eyes.

 **…**

He comes back to Regina's room. And then back again, again and again until he isn't sure if he's doing it for the boy who he has come to adore, or he is doing it for himself.

A few weeks have gone by but still shows no kind of change on Regina, and it is disappointing, but he tells himself that if she hasn't given any sign of waking up any time soon for the past four years, then what makes him think that she would, suddenly now?

It isn't logical, he knows that, but he hopes—hopes for the boy who longs to finally see his mother walking and talking again, for Regina's sisters who he's found out to have been devoted and committed in waiting until she wakes up again, and for Regina herself that she might open her eyes and start her life again.

" _She got into a car crash when Henry was three,"_ Mary Margaret divulges to him one day, " _She was so stressed and was grieving. Her fiancé, Henry's father, Daniel, had gotten murdered just a week prior and Regina had been stricken by grief. I suppose she hadn't seen it coming, but also the driver was drunk. He died upon collision, having swerved after hitting my sister's car and then hitting a lamp post himself."_

Robin had nodded empathically, he had no idea how it had happened and had often wondered.

" _If you don't mind me asking, how come Regina's name is Mills and yours is Blanchard,"_ he had asked her then, wanting to know more of Regina and her family without really knowing why. " _I know Zelena is married that's why her name is Greene."_

" _My father married their mother when I was eleven,"_ Mary Margaret answers with a fond smile. _"Regina was fifteen then, and Zelena was seventeen. I never did grow close with Zelena until recently, after what happened with Regina, but Regina had always been the big sister I have always wanted to have."_

He'd known a lot about the woman who had no idea of his existence from then on. He'd found out that Regina works, or at least used to, as a bank executive, had graduated from Stanford, likes jazz music. Henry had even told him that Regina loves apples and makes the best turnovers in the whole wide world. Robin supposes that Henry barely remembers, but has kept holding on to the memories of his mother, the last ones before she'd fallen under a coma.

Robin feels like he knows the woman already, even though they had never had a conversation with each other. He feels something, some sort of a connection to her, feels a pull that makes him gravitate towards her.

And now, as he watches her son and his son, Roland,(who he has introduced to Henry a week before to have someone he could play with), play with each other, he wishes she is awake to see it too.

 **…**

It is late.

Mary Margaret has excused herself to get some coffee, Henry had long since gone home with his Auntie Zelena, and Robin had been left alone to watch over the lady who is basically a stranger to him, but he feels like he knows so well by now.

He watches her face, watches the peaceful way she sleeps, and hopes that she wakes soon so she could see her son, what a wonderful boy he has become. He's taken over her case, too, upon Zelena's request, their family having grown rather attached to him, as he is with them.

It is rather curious how one little event could ripple and make a wave of new events that has now led to his life changing forever. He doesn't know how he can leave now, it seems too late to pull away, and he's in too deep, caring so much about this woman and her happiness, even if it all seems impossible right now.

It's taken him awhile to realize that he is quite invested with the woman he doesn't quite know, or rather who doesn't quite know him. And try as he might, he can't really stop now.

So he stays, he talks to her, too. He asks her to wake, it doesn't matter that they are strangers to each other, what matters is that she gets a chance to see her son, who he knows she'll be quite surprised to find has grown up exponentially since she'd last laid eyes on him.

He touches her hand, sometimes, stroking her soft skin and tells her that she might not know him, and he might not know her apart from the stories he's heard from her sisters and her son, but he knows that everyone deserves a second chance, especially her, and he believes that.

And he sits beside her now, watching her, asking her again to wake, much time has passed, and really, she needs to see the wonders of the world, all she needs to do is come back to it. He holds her hand, having since lost the need for logical explanation why he acts this way, or for explanations why he seems so drawn to her. He is here, now, right beside her, and that is what matters.

He keeps his hope replenished all the time.

He is lost in his thoughts when he feels something tapping against his hand. He looks down and finds her fingers moving, finally, and hope swells in his chest, combined with delight. Precaution seems to have been banished at the back of his mind, and he waits, waits and waits until her eyelids flutter. He dials Mary Margaret's number (she's given it to him when she'd offered to take the boy out for ice cream one day) and calls her. When she picks up, he tells her of the good news quickly, before turning back his attention to the woman waking just before his eyes.

Her beautiful brown eyes open and she stares up at him hazily, before reaching up and clearing her throat. The rasp lets him know that she is parched and he reaches for the water sitting on the bedside table and helps her drink it. She takes small sips, before pushing it away, and then once again staring up at him.

"Who are you?" she asks croakily.

"I'm Dr. Robin Locksley," he tells her coolly, failing to mention that he's been holding vigil on her bedside for the last few weeks, waiting along with her family for her to wake. His emotional attachment is inconsequential to the good news that is happening right before them. "Do you remember who you are?"

 **…**

It takes a while of adjustment.

Regina has been taken aback by the fact that she's been in a coma for more than four years, and had missed out on so much of her son's life. She is a bit disoriented, and rightfully so. But all in all, she's taken her situation quite well, healing nicely, and adjusting to her life quickly. She had even thanked him for helping her son when Henry had told him. Even better, there had been no apparent cognitive and mental effects.

She'd gone to therapy, too, trying to make use of her limbs once more. She has been so excited to live again, having been awakened after a long coma and finding out that she's missed out on a lot, doing wonders to her outlook in life. She has been devastated by the loss of her fiancé, but she understands it now, accepts it and is now more than willing and ready to get back on her life for her son.

Robin finds though, that because Regina is awake, it means he's not able to visit her as freely anymore without making her uncomfortable. Sure, he visits still, his son having grown fond of Henry and Regina, but his visits when he's alone had been put to a complete stop.

He supposes it's not too large a sacrifice if it means seeing her smile again.

Though, he can only stay far away for so long, and after a few weeks, he finds himself wandering to her room again. It is empty, and Regina is asleep. She must have sent her family home. And since she's awake now and would be going home in a matter of days, there really is no need for her sisters to be there at all hours of the day.

He opens the door quietly, not wanting to risk waking her. He feels like a creep, but tamps that feeling down. He wants to say goodbye, or something of that sort, the urge to be close to her overwhelming him.

He takes the seat beside her bed and takes her hand in his.

"I'm glad you are awake, milady," he whispers into the silence, hoping to God that she won't hear him, not that it matters. "Or rather, that you've awake from your coma. Your family is delighted, and so am I. I hope you find happiness now, with your son and your sisters, and your life. You've changed mine in a way that I could not explain, and I could never forget that, or you."

He falls silent for a while, just staring at her before he squeezes her hand he rises from his seat. He presses a kiss against her forehead, not really knowing why and not bothering to know. And then, he begins to walk away.

"It's you," he hears before he reaches the door, and he knows it's her, she's awake, and how horrifying that is for him. He swallows before he turns, ready to utter apologies for being a creep. Before he could begin though, she speaks, "It's your voice." She sits up and rests against the headboard.

That puzzles him and he tells her so.

"When I was in a coma, there was a voice. It kept leading me back home, asking me to wake because I needed to see my son. The voice had always said in great detail how wonderful my son was and that I deserved a second chance, I just had to open my eyes to see it," she tells him, and his eyes widen in wonder.

He doesn't know what to say.

"It was your voice," she says with equal wonder, before she smiles up at him, gazing at him with watery eyes. "I…thank you, Robin."

He walks by her bedside once more and takes her hand in his. She takes him by surprise though when she grabs his coat and pulls him to her, kissing him and stealing his breath away. He stares up at her before the urge to kiss her again overwhelms him and he nips her by the waist, taking her lips in his in a heated kiss.

"You led me back home," she tells him when they pull away. "Thank you for being my remedy. I don't know how I could repay you."

Her simple but overwhelmingly sincere 'thank you' suffices, and he tells her so.

It really is not a problem.

 **Fin (2/5/16)**

* * *

 **a/N: I had planned to make this a multi chap, but i think it's fine. Let me know what you think though!**


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